Like Water Into Wine
by Jane Lane
Summary: Memories are hard to erase.


Author's Notes:  I don't know where these ideas come from.  I suspect it has something to do with drinking too much soda before bed.  Anyway, welcome to the seldom-visited world of Hermione/Lupin.  I felt bad for them.  They never get paired up.  So, here's to the usual:  I don't own them and I'm not J.K. Rowling.  (I'm not blonde, or British, or rich, either, so don't sue.)  Hermione's back teaching at Hogwarts.  And the weird thing is that I had this story titled, looked up the title (because I don't like using a title someone else has already invented—just a quirk of mine), and found out that it was a Patty Loveless song with lyrics that are almost eerily right for this.  God help me, I just wrote a songfic in reverse.  *weeps*

~~~~~

_Like Water Into Wine_

The wine is making her too warm.  

She'd intended to have just one glass and be done with it, leave early and go back to her study and books and solitude.  Faculty functions are not something she particularly dislikes, but she doesn't feel much like socializing tonight.

She'd intended to have just the one, but then Professor Binns gets her caught up in a discussion regarding the history of wand-making, Madame Hooch puts another glass of wine in her hand, and before she really knows what is happening, she finds herself downing her fifth… no, her sixth… well, in any case, she's had a lot to drink, and she is at present still drinking.  

She glances at the goblet in her hand.

Well, not drinking anymore.  The glass appears to be empty.

Letting her eyes roam the Great Hall for a moment—and when did it get so hard to focus?—she spies the tray of wine glasses that the house elves kept busily refilling.  House elves.  In a more sober state, she might well launch into another tirade, but now, she is simply grateful for their attentiveness.  Messily waving her wand, she summons a glass, spilling only a small amount on the floor.

She leans back in her chair, feeling the blush in her cheeks flare as she takes another sip of wine.  

Gods, how long has it been since she's just been able to sit and be still and not think?  

"Too long," says a gentle voice to her right and she starts, just a bit.  Remus Lupin sits down with a sigh in the chair next to her and leaned back as she had.  "These things always go on for too long."

"Faculty functions?" she asks, and she doesn't _sound_ drunk at all.

He smiles a bit, just out of the corner of his mouth.  "Those, too."

She thinks perhaps she ought to ask him what he'd originally meant, but the look on his face and the tone of his voice makes her wary.  Maybe she's better off not knowing.

She sits a moment and studies him, noting little things about him that she would never even _consider_ noticing sober.  The way his shoulders rise and fall when he breathes, something that shouldn't have been as alluring as it was and a thought that she tries very hard to forget as soon as it appears.  The slope of his nose, the curve of his lip, the way one eye crinkles just a tiny bit more than the other when he smiles at her, and—

Oh.

"I'm sorry," she says, not really feeling sorry for staring at all but sorry at having been caught, and it comes out as more of a comment than an apology anyway.

Lupin chuckles.  "I don't believe in all the years I've known you that I have ever seen you drink."

She finishes off her glass—her seventh, she was positive of that now—and places it on the table in front of her with a surprisingly steady hand.  "In all the years I've known you, I probably haven't drunk.  Drank.  Have drunk."  She takes a moment to ponder the grammar.  "I probably haven't drunk."  It still sounds funny to her, but that was the subjunctive.

He raises an amused eyebrow.  "Are you all right?"

She gives an enthusiastic sigh.  "I'm really much too hot," she replies, suddenly very upset about it.

"A walk, then?" he offers lightly, holding out his hand as he stands.  She bites her lip for a moment and then rises as well, sliding her hand into his, and when she does, it occurs to her that maybe it isn't the wine's fault after all.  When they leave the Hall, she can feel the eyes of her coworkers on her, and she is suddenly angry.  She doesn't want, doesn't _need_ their pity.  She doesn't care to hear the remarks she knows they must be making.

_Poor thing, she's lost so much._

_It must be so hard to go on._

_Someone should check up on her more often._

She has never liked pity, and she isn't going to start now.

They walk down to the lake because that's really the only place to which you _can_ walk, and at some point, Lupin has let go of her hand.

She tells herself that she only cares because she is drunk, and she only takes his again because she needs something to help her balance.  They stop and stand, both staring out at the lake, and looking at the water, she remembers so many things all at once that she can _hear_ the memories rushing past her.

She must have said or done something, a little gasp or a murmured word, because Lupin turns to her sharply, putting his free hand on her shoulder.  "What is it?" he asks quietly, brow furrowed so that the little crease between his eyebrows deepen and his mouth tightens minutely.

"Too much," she murmurs.

"Wine?" he asks as his expression softened once more.

She gives him a rueful smile as she realizes what he'd meant earlier in the evening.  

"That, too."

~~~

They sit down under the tree and she gets a strange sense of déjà vu in reverse.  It happens a lot these days.  She isn't bothered anymore.

It isn't summer by any stretch of the imagination, but it is warm enough that an hour spent by the lake will be pleasant and not uncomfortable.

He talks about everything and nothing, telling her anecdotes of his own school days, of teaching, of the Order.  She listens, but she isn't listening to his words as much as she is simply listening to his voice, soft and kind and more comforting than anything she's ever heard or seen or felt.  She watches his mouth move and watches him breathe and tries to match her own breathing to his.

He is finishing a story.  As he's talked, she begins to realize that he is also not nearly as sober as she had originally thought.  Not drunk, but not sober.  She is fairly sure he was telling her about his days at Hogwarts, and she feels a brief pang of guilt at not knowing and thinks maybe she should have listened better.  

But he's still talking.  "I realized that I'd never done a lot of things, and that I'd spent so much time sitting around, waiting for them to happen, I'd completely overlooked the fact that it was _my_ responsibility to _make_ them happen.  It's easy to say, 'Well, look at my lot in life, look at how unfair it is, look at what I've got to deal with' and leave it at that.  It's harder to accept all that and then go beyond, do things anyway, despite everything.  _In spite_ of everything."

She nods and he smiles a bit, and asks, "Do you know what I mean?"

She nods again.  "I do," she replies and now she _does_ sound a bit drunk.  "I've been there and done that."

He smiles wider.  "I don't doubt that you understand," he begins, "but I _do_ doubt that you've ever been one to sit back and use circumstances as excuses.  You've always gone out and fought for what you wanted, tooth and nail.  And then some."

"I've never been properly kissed," she says tonelessly, meaning it as simply a rebuttal, proof that even she has resorted to blaming circumstance and fate, has accepted this even though she is unhappy about it.

He is surprised.

And then some.

When she catches his expression, she can't help but laugh.  She might as well have told him that the Earth was actually flat after all.

"That's impossible," he blurts out and she laughs harder.

"I'll swallow veritaserum if you like," she says with a smile still twisting the corners of her mouth.

He finally gives in and laughs, too, because she is laughing once more.  She is laughing and some part of her is thinking how absurd this is, and another part is thinking how wonderful this is.  And after a minute, they are practically shrieking with laughter.  It feels good, she thinks, to be able to laugh like this with someone.  She hasn't laughed this hard since—

Abruptly, she pushes the thought away.  She doesn't want to think about that now, about him, about any of them, or about how there's always a place, deep inside her, that aches constantly because she knows he is gone.

She realizes that Remus is staring at her, not laughing anymore but still smiling, amused and surprised.  

"You know," she says, moving closer to him, leaning in toward him, trying not to slur her words, though she feels, she _knows_, she is failing miserably, "in the interests of science and of fighting for what you want and overcoming circumstance…"  She tries not to fall into another fit of giggles and it is only the touch of his palm, warm and soft, on her cheek that keeps her from breaking up again.  

She can't help it.  She leans into the touch, and it has been so long since anyone has touched her at all.  She sighs and her eyes drift close as he moves his hand a little, runs his thumb across her lips, so lightly it almost tickles.  "Please," she breathes, and she doesn't even know what she's asking for.

"Open your eyes," he says, just barely above a whisper, and he is so close to her now that she can feel his breath when he speaks.  With effort, an immense amount of effort, she manages to lift her eyelids enough to meet his gaze.  He watches her for a moment and then smiles, tilting her chin up with his thumb and tilting her head to the left a bit with his fingers.  She moves willingly, eagerly, and her heart is beating in her ears so loudly it hurts as he moves his hand to the back of her neck.

At the first press of his mouth to hers, she smiles against his lips, because it is everything she thought it would be and more.  Her eyes are still open and she can almost focus on his eyes, and she is pleased when she feels him smile back, his hand still resting lightly on the back of her neck.

He takes a breath through his nose and something about that makes her melt; if she'd been standing, her knees would have gone weak, though she can't say exactly why.  He takes a breath and then pulls back just enough to run the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, and suddenly she can't keep her eyes open anymore.  With an audible sigh, she lets her eyelids fall closed again as he lightly nips at her mouth now.

It feels good, so good that she forgets that she doesn't really know what she's doing and reciprocates, pulling his lip between her teeth.  The sound he makes at that gives her goose bumps and her breathing becomes ragged as he whispers, "Good," against her lips, "so good".

She sighs his name, and she is only a little bit surprised when she feels him take the upper hand and slip his tongue, teasingly, between her lips.  Unbidden, discussions of kissing from her schooldays spring to mind and she remembers very nearly swearing an oath that no one would ever get his tongue into _her_ mouth, thank you very much.  She laughs at herself and then he's tangling his fingers in her hair more firmly, pressing his mouth to hers just a bit harder, and she forgets to be amused at her childhood self.

When he finally slides his tongue against hers, she can taste the faint hint of wine, slightly sour but not at all unpleasant.  She makes a sharp little sound, nothing more than a quick exhalation, but it is all the encouragement he needs and she wonders how she could have gone so long without this.  The feel of his hand in her hair, the press of his mouth on hers, the light caress as his other hand comes up to rest against her cheek, are all too much for her.

She pulls away, desperate for air, and when she opens her eyes, there is nothing there but the darkness of the night and the chill in the air.  Remus isn't there, will never be there, gone like so many others lost in the War, and she hates her memories and her imagination more than anything right now.

She doesn't usually drink and she still feels too warm, but now she suspects it has more to do with the hot tears scalding her cheeks and the searing anger scalding her heart.


End file.
